Fire in the Blood
by liliaeth
Summary: Methos is called in for an old debt (Harry Potter/Highlander)
1. Prologue

***** 1983 *****

The young wizard snapped for breath as he left the tight corridor leading up to the cave. He straightened his robes and tightened his mask, removing it from his face. In this room no one would care about the way he looked. No one here would ever leave long enough for it too matter.  
  
The plates were still floating in front of him and he could smell the magic coming from them, from the potions inside the food. He ignored most of the beings in the cages around him. The smells, the stench, he tried not to notice it. A true wizard wouldn't let something as insignificant as an unfavory scent bother him..

Griffons, dragons, elves, vampires, ... and most of all the werewolf. They all shrunk back in their cages, trying to get away from him, from the wizard that ran freely through the cave. He trembled trying not to look at the werewolf. Shivering at old memories that came with seeing the beast.  
He moved past them all, turning right next to the mermaids pool. A few unicorns were tied up next to it. The creatures rose up at his arrival. He bit back a curse as they nearly stamped on him.

Some muggles sat trembling in a cage on the left. Shaking as they noticed his dark robes. He smiled wryly at their fears.  
Unsure why it made him feel so unsettled.  
Screams rose up from behind him, someone or something was in agony. He swallowed and moved on. Ready to face the Dark Lords latest acquisition. 

He froze as he saw it. It was magnificent, incredible how much it had the shape of a man, but he could see the fire playing under it's skin. The lightening dancing in it's blood.   
At first sight it would be nothing more than a good-looking dark haired Muggle, but he knew better than that.

As soon as a wizard came near, the fire flared up, leaving the manlike creature to feel them coming.  
But even now, only a true wizard would be able to see it.  
He stared at the glittering white skin, and the way it reflected the mage light above him. The young wizard forced himself to move. He touched the body through the bars using his wand. Prodding him for further life signs.  
The creature moaned in response.  
It curled up, cradling its legs.

The wizard held up his wand and floated the plate into the cage. Close enough for the creature to reach it. He gulped as it nearly inhaled the food. Severus shivered thinking about their first meeting with the creature. Several of them had died just attempting to capture the magical beast. When they finally had it, it had been covered in wounds but the master had just ignored them all. That should have been a sign. Severus had been surprised to find out why as it's wounds healed out of their own accord.  
It crawled away, waving in a slow staccato, barely reacting to the cool breeze that continuously cooled up the cave. It's lean body seemed thin, but strong as it's muscles tightened up.  
The body of a swordsman, one of the 'swordsmen'.

"Magnificent. Isn't it?"

"Yes." Was all Severus could bring out.

The Dark Lord just stood there, holding a long leash in his left hand.  
Severus bowed out of the way as the master entered the cage. The manlike creature inside backed off against the bars, trying to escape.

"Crucio!"   
The masters words were about as calm as if he hadn't just spoken one of the unforgivable curses. Just a word, but yet not.  
The Swordsman crumbled in pain, screaming pleas of mercy in some unknown but undisguisably ancient language.

"Do you see how easy it is boy? How much pain I can hand out at will?"  
  
Severus eyes fell on the body that was stall shaking in small bursts of pain.  
"I won't even need to use the Imperatio curse now do I?"  
The creature crawled up to the Dark Lord and kneeled down on elbows and knees, bowing down his head, showing the leather collar around his neck.  
  
Voldemort attached the leash and touched his skin.  
"That's the way Methos. Just like that."


	2. Chapter 1

***** 2001 *****

Darkness swallowed their faces, that was all Harry could think of as he stared up into the black holes that were supposed to be his pursuers eyes. They stared at him, their wands aimed at his chest.  
There was no place left to go, his wand had been taken from him, there was nothing left to use as a weapon. 

With their wands aimed at him, the boy pushed himself up against the wall, trying to at least be on his feet as he died and look his executionars in the eyes or the masks, whatever. He refused to let fear rule him, even now.

"Ava ..." but the words were broken of. There was a frozen shock in the Dead Eathers movements as he grabbed for his chest, feeling the blood that started pouring. He tried to turn around, but it was to late and he fell over. The man was kneeling, muttering something, his friend held on to him, turning his wand the other side. Harry could hear the curse. "Ava Kadavra." but the attacker didn't even seem to notice and kept on coming. "Crucio." the man tried. "Expelliaramus."

But whatever curse the wizard used, none of them seemed to grab hold of the man as he pulled out a sword as out of nowhere. The wizard called on for more and more curses, but nothing stopped the swords descent towards his neck.

Harry couldn't keep his eyes of the mark of Voldemort on the attackers arm. It showed clearly as his sword came down. The boy could do nothing but stare at the bloodied blade. Unable to understand what was going on. He wanted to stop it, but the man grabbed his arm, putting a finger on his lips.  
"Be quiet, there may be more."

Harry could see it as the man touched him. The fire playing in his body. Lightflashes, how could he not have seen it before? He stood there unable to move, just staring at the lights.

This couldn't be a Muggle. But what was he? Not a wizard either, but what kind of magical creature would dress like a muggle but glow like a fireworm? 

A few more of the dark lords servants died as they tried to grab them. Harry was left no choice but to be pulled along, staring at the bodies on the ground

He sat in the back of the car, staring ahead of him, half in shock. The man threw something at him. It was his wand. "You'll have to have it fixed or something." Harry still stared at the back of the man in front of him. 

***** 1983 *****

Cold.  
Pain.  
It all joined up in a bundle of insane images of experiences.  
Methos eyed the demon in front of him.  
It had to be a demon, what else could and would keep killing and bringing him back to life like this?  
He touched the blood, only moments ago the demon had slit his wrists, using his blood for some kind of dark ritual. Methos kept staring at them. Terrified to touch the skin, worried it would open again.

The demon turned back to him, Methos cringed but didn't dare to move. Luckily it left him... well luckily? There were five of the lesser demons in the room. He didn't really mind being a slave. He'd been a slave for most of his life. In all honesty, he couldn't even remember a time that he hadn't been a slave. The pain didn't much bother him either. It was all par for the course. Sure it wasn't pleasant, but it was a master's right and he'd had worse. Only days ago his former master had been beating him, he'd been so sure he'd finally died and then the new master had loomed over him. 

How had he gotten here?   
When had old Mauri sold him? And why?  
Master Mauri didn't believe in getting rid of bad slaves, it gave a person a bad reputation.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he had died and this was the afterworld, his punishment for his disobediance. The gods knew that he'd stolen from the masters breads, they knew that he'd taken pieces of fruit that he was supposed to serve. They had seen him as he flirted with Oona when he should have been minding the herd.  
This had to be his own fault. His penance.  
But what was missing, wasn't there supposed to have been some kind of judgement, or didn't that exist for slaves?

Was there any way that he would not displease his new master?  
Maybe if he knew what he did wrong, the master would stop punishing him?

He curled up, holding on to his legs, trying to ignore the cold.  
"Methos."  
He jumped up, obeying to the name that wasn't his, with the speed that was expected of him.

He kneeled next to his master, bowing his head on the floor and trying to get as low to the ground as possible. The demon enjoyed it when he did that, when he kissed the mud. It smirked, Methos could see his eyes as the demon pressed its claws in his skin. His long nails leaving a red trail. Some sort of magic played around them and Methos screamed as he felt his life drained out of him.

The air surrounding him seemed to grow colder with every increasing second and Methos trembled under the magics. His throat grew hoarse, but the master was laughing, enjoying his torment.   
And Methos feared he knew exactly what would please the master.   
It was not a good thought.

He could hear words coming from the masters lips, but he didn't understand, didn't know what the master said. He didn't dare utter his confusion.  
But the sounds weren't aimed at him.  
One of the masters servants grabbed his leash and got ready to take him back to the cage.  
Methos truly tried to get up and follow, but he was to weak to get up.  
The master yelled something again.  
Methos wanted to plead for mercy, but found himself pulled of his feet and floating in mid-air. He spartled, trying to get free of whatever had grabbed hold of him.  
Nothing helped. This was unnatural.

The master glared at him. Anger raged over his face.   
Methos froze and held back any sound he could make.  
The servant seemed to hurry. With good reason.  
Methos fell to the ground mere seconds after they arrived in the cage.  
He cradled his limbs and stared at the servant.  
The man just nodded and locked the cage, leaving Methos shivering in the cold.


	3. Chapter 2

***** 2001 *****

Harry held on to the rail of the window. Refusing to think.  
He didn't want to remember.  
God where was Hedwig?  
What had happened to him. Had those Death Eaters hurt him?  
He didn't want to remember, he didn't. He really didn't want to see what had happened. Never again. Not now, not ever.  
But as it came down, he couldn't not remember.  
And all he could think of was uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia as he arrived at the Dursley's home.

He'd been dragging his trunk up to the door, barely managing to hold on to his owl as the cabdriverdelivered him at Privat Drive. He'd wondered what they were going to say. Were they still angry about Dudley and the ton ton toffee? How would they react to seeing him?  
Nobody opened as he knocked the door. To his surprise the normally locked door gave in at themost minor touch. Harry pushed it further and was blocked by something, someone...

Uncle Vernon had dropped a foot away from the door. There was a mixture of disdain and fear frozen on his face. Harry touched him, dipping his finger in the blood. Not believing.

He heard sobbing and moved up in its direction. He nearly fell over his aunt Petunia's feet.  
There was blood all over her good dress.

Dudley sat hunched down in a corner, trying to hide his enormous bulk behind the couch. He started screaming as soon as he saw Harry. His big body raged in shocks. Harry tried to calm him down but the boy just kept on screaming.  
Harry could feel, more than hear something happen. He turned around, just in time. A shot rang. Dudley was pushed up against the wall, blood flittered down from the hole in between his eyes.  
Harry had stared up at the strange man aiming a gun at him, unable to move as he saw the fire moving in his blood.

Harry shook up. The moving fire.

Just like the man at the Dursley's. He turned around, staring at the man who had brought him here. Another man with fire in his veins. The stranger just stood there, staring down at him.

***** 1983 *****

Severus cowered on the steps. His eyes glued to the cage a few steps ahead of him and the creature attempting to hide inside of it. It was sleeping, dreaming.  
What does a Swordsman dream of? Ancient memories, fire in the sky? He wasn't sure.

It murmured something, the wizard wished he knew what. Odd but true, he found himself curious. The beast's language was too ancient, too strange. There was something about it, mostly the way that it seemed so small, so incredibly young.  
Defenseless almost.

He wondered how that was possible, remembering the carnage of it's capture.  
This wasn't some young boy, it was an ancient creature of the most dangerous forms of magic. Something existing beyond the mundane world.

Yet as it lay there none of that showed.

He turned his eyes back to the potion that was stirring next to him, giving off huge bursts of smoke. He filled a small goblet with the stuff and poured it over a plate with food that stood next to him. The food glowed for a second before returning to it's normal appearance.

It didn't smell, it didn't taste. But it would make the creature as harmless as a child by disconnecting the immortal soul from the body, making the swordsman's soul and power ripe for the taking.

It was a forbidden potion. An unforgivable curse.  
Yet it was the best, but utterly darkest way for a wizard to gain immortality.  
Highly dangerous, extremely painful for the swordsman, but in the end granting the highest possible reward.  
Power beyond imagination.

Severus could feel it pulsing under the creatures skin every time he approached it. It would take a while, but in the end the Dark Lord would be unbeatable.  
So why was he starting to dread that very notion?

He gave the swordsman one last glance, then he took a knife and in a matter of seconds he changed his fate. All it took was a little cut in the swordsman's skin, the creature barely even noticed it. It merely squirmed in its sleep.

The wizard waited a few seconds, letting the magical blood drip in a vial he held in between his fingers, careful not to let it touch his skin.  
He left the food in the cage and stepped away without turning back once.

** 2001 **

Methos was rubbing his arm, staring at the boy.   
Voldemort's worst nemesis.   
A mere child.

Even younger than Richie had been at first death.  
Way too young.  
Yet here he was in a position that even most full grown warriors would dread.  
The immortal turned his back to the boy and left him to the silence. It was not up to him to talk the child through his shock. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he could. Not without the darkness climbing up around him.

"Make yourself comfortable," was all he could say.

But what comfort could a wizard child find after he'd just lost his entire family, for the second time around.  
The idea of becoming this child's family filled him with dread.  
Instead he left him alone, deciding to think of himself first and foremost. 

The darkness in the living room was forbidding, but Methos didn't dare light the fire. All too aware for what it could be used. He didn't dare leave a window open, aware as he was that it wouldn't stop them. All he had was his blood but even now he couldn't be sure that it would help.

The door was but a small barrier to them either, he grabbed it open, daring them to come.  
He nearly screamed for them, shivering in the cold welsh air. He took a step further, outside.  
He had nothing, nothing but his blood. Blood that made him immune to magic

He grabbed a knife and let his blood sip on the ground.  
Each time the cuts healed he'd open them again, leaving a trail of blood in his wake as he stepped a full circle around the house.

He wondered why, how much belief was he putting in the words of wizards. But then he remembered, shivered and cut the wound once more, letting the red trail continue.


	4. Chapter 3

***** 2001: A week earlier *** **

The ancient lowered himself in the bath, quietly enjoying the thrill of the bubbles floating up against his skin. He let the warmth spread through him and sank deeper into the bath, letting the back of his neck sink in as well. He moaned slightly as the heat overtook him. 

Something something was wrong. He stared at his arm.  
It itched intensely. Almost as if the tattoo on his wrist was burning.  
He wanted to curse the permanent markers he'd been using lately and started scratching. Hoping it wasn't the tattoo, he could avoid his watch if need be, but not The skin was darkening, slowly but steadily. His breath grew heavier and he sat up, staring at it. He gulped deeply, unaware that his hand was moving to his neck. He shivered as his fingers touched the line of his neck, making sure it was free. Empty of anything that could cover it up. 

Methos whispered a long forgotten prayer, but the mark grew ever darker. It was itching increasingly. He pushed his arm under water and scratched it some more. Then taking a hard brush he began scrubbing it with all his might. Anything to make the slowly appearing mark disappear again. Blood flowed from his broken skin, but the mark returned unmarred as soon as it was cleared. 

He ignored the redness in the water, he ignored everything really, as he kept trying to get it out of his arm. And with his blood his strength left him as well. He ended up sinking back in the water, bowing his head under water. Maybe if he died, the mark would fade again. He didn't believe it, but anything had to be better than this. 

He slowly started dying and his last sight focused on a man in a dark robe. He died of fear as much as from blood loss. 

****** 1983 **** **

Methos could hear them talking, whispering in low muddled voices. He crawled up, trying to move back up to the bars. Remembering a second too late how angry the master would be if he saw it.  
Their steps were near silent, not close to matching their usual arrogant strides.  
Their faces were hidden as always, inside masks and hoods. 

One of the men approached him. Another held his arm. The first ones voice was low but harsh. The other pulled him up, seemingly furious, but the first one stood in his way. Only when the third intervened did they both go silent. Their stares enough to burn a hole through him. 

The first one aimed his staff. Methos bowed, knowing it was better to just get it over with. Only to have the second one interfere, pushing down the first ones staff one more time. The man pulled down his mask and Methos recognized his face. He didn't protest as the man pulled him closer in a hug and whispered comforting sounds over him while kneeling down. 

The demon-servant took his hand, pulling him up and motioning at him to follow. Methos obeyed, shrinking back at the sight of the other cages. The servants voice continued in whispered tones, his eyes stood friendly. Methos swallowed deeply and grabbed for all the courage he could muster. 

"Shh"  
None of the demons spoke as they walked through the cave. Methos stared at the wondrous sights. A bit fearful as the demons released some of the other creatures from their cages. One of them threw him a cloak and Methos pulled it on, seeing some of the other slaves do the same. 

He stared into the face of the demons, wondering why his terror had almost left him.

*** 2001 ***

"So you still remember?"

"How could I forget?"  
Methos trembled as he touched the symbol, the mark of his slavery.

"Even after the Obliviatum spell."  
Methos almost grinned at the wizards surprise.

"Us 'swordsmen' are immune to most forms of magic remember?"  
His face held a smug grin for a moment, wry and sort of harsh.  
"You're the one who told me, remember?"

"Yes. A good thing that the Department for Care of magical creatures didn't."

"A very good thing."

They both stood staring out the window.  
"It only took Voldemort the death of two 'volunteers' and the murder of several Muggles just to bind you to him."

Methos shivered just thinking about it, remembering the rituals.   
"Just the memories of seeing him kill those children, using their deaths, their hearts to create the binding potion. It's often made me wish your magic would work on me. If only to make me forget."

"Is that why you gave in? To forget?"

"I didn't..." But Methos couldn't lie, not even to himself, he had given in. Voldemort had pulled up the memories of his actions, he'd grabbed hold of Methos darkest memories and had shown them to him. He'd collapsed and by any god, he'd given in. 

"It was easier being young again." was what he finally said.

"Lies often are."

"What if he gets me again Severus? What will he do?"

"I ... we won't let him get you." Severus words stood cold, holding a deep promise inside. "Simple as that."

"I owe you."

"No you don't."

"I owe you wizard. I always will."


	5. Chapter 4

***** 1983 *****

Methos shivered as he faced the cold breeze outside.  
They weren't taking him to the master. For a moment, a short heavenly moment, he felt relief soar through him. A hope to get away, that the horror would be over, but then he remembered ...  
When Cassius had tried to escape, old Mauri had beaten him, worse ... He'd seen the boy lying there in a heap of bones, barely alive, his body dark with his own blood. He wasn't dead, but death could hardly have been more cruel.

Methos and the others had been standing there, watching as the master showed them what happened to slaves who didn't know their place in life. To those who dared to think they could be free.  
And that had just been old Mauri. What would his new master do if he tried to get away?

The men, the thieves stared at him as he froze in his tracks.  
"Methos." He didn't understand their words. He turned to the one of them he actually recognized and smiled, before turning to look over his shoulder. He couldn't go, they had to understand that.

One of them took hold of his arm, as if to drag him along. Methos wanted to scream, to show he didn't go freely, but another of the shadow figures put his hands on his mouth, keeping him silent.  
He struggled, but lost his chance when one of them beat him on the head.

***** 2001 *****

"They almost killed you." Severus chuckled under his breath, in wry contradiction with the seriousness of his words. 

"Hey for all I knew, they were just trying to steal me. Good slaves don't run Severus, and as stupid as I might have been, I always tried to be a good slave. It hurt less."

Snape touched the mark on his skin again.  
"I remember your terror." Glee showed in his eyes."Potter tried to calm you down. He only made it worse. Then I showed up and you cooled down, letting no one but me touch you."

"He nearly choked. The shock was that bad."

Snape smiled, his grin broader, than most people would ever imagine it could be.  
"Thanks for that by the way. God I wish I could have shaken the man like that. It was long time someone pulled him of his sockle. Damn arrogant bastard, always thought he was better than anyone else."  


***** 1983 *****

"Damn bastard." Black held on to his leg, touching the skin where the Swordsman had hit him. 

"He's a threat Potter, lethal, corrupted." Krenck sounded emotionless, hard, formal.   
"I'm afraid we don't have a choice."

Potter was coming up. Letting go of the Swordsman on the soft leather coucvh in the middle of the room.  
"No."  
His words expressed Severus' own thoughts.  
They couldn't do this.

"Why not Potter? Do you even realize how dangerous an insane magical creature like this can be?"  
Krenck grabbed hold of Potters arm and forced him to face him.  
"Do you have any idea what you-know-who was planning with the thing? If 'He' gets a hold of him again..."  
The sheer horror of it rang through the augurs voice.  
"We'd all be doomed."

Krenck streightened up again and looked at the swordsman with a gleam of false pity.  
"There's no other choice."

As much as his every word was truth, it wasn't the full truth. Severus knew that, he wanted to shout it, to stop this, but before he could say a thing to interfere, Potter spoke again.  
Logical, yet passionate as always. Why did that man always have to be so damn good?

"You can't kill a sentient. An innocent."  
Severus wanted to hit him, for being right, for having to agree with him, for being on the same side with a man he hated more than anything.  
"Would you kill those Muggles for what Voldemort did to them?

Severus shivered as Potter spoke the dreaded name, how could the man be so calm about it. This was ... he choked, not even daring to think the Dark Lord's name.

"Of course not." Krencks response sounded almost affronted.

"Then why would you kill him?"

"It's different James. Those Muggles as pittiable as they might be right now, they're still human.  
Swordsmen never were." Krenck seemed to be going of for one of his political speaches. "They're dangerous enough as it is, no need to make them even more so..."

Severus shivered at the thought of what the man was implying, but that was no reason. No reason at all.

"No!" They all turned to him, almost surprised he'd dared to speak, even knowing what they thought of him. A Death Eater who'd turned on his own.   
"I did not risk my life, warning you idiots, just so you can go on ahead and kill him."  
Potter seemed surprised to hear him like that.  
"All he needs is time."

He fought for all the courage he could muster.  
"I'll fight you. If you try to kill him, I'll fight you over it."

"Me and him both Krenck."

"And me."

Severus stared at the look in their eyes. Dumbledore, looked at him supportively, Black just tried to look away from him, 

"How dare you?" Krenck seemed almost affronted at the idea of the others turning against him.

"Easily.

Severus didn't dare turn back to Potter. He knew he'd just glare at the man if he did, still unable to believe what he was seeing. Him and Potter on the same side about anything... It was a sight he'd never before have imagined possible. He hated it.

Krenck lifted his hands in surrender.  
"It's on your hands then Potter.  
Severus tried to look at his archrivals reaction.  
"I'll make sure you get guardianship. But don't take it lightly."

Potter would be a fool if he did.   
Guardianship over any magical creature, over Swordsmen especially. Oh god.it was one of the most powerfull magics around. Snape grumbled, knowing there was nothing he could do about it. Why did Potter always get these kind of things thrown in his lap. Why did he always get it easy? It just wasn't fair. Why did Potter get everything?

Methos was his find. His responsibility, but they just took it away from him like that, as if anything he'd done didn't matter. Only Potter mattered. As always.  
They considered themselves kind to give him a second chance, the fools. As if he did it for them. He resented that idea. He'd offered them his help and yet they treated him as if they were being tollerant about him. As if he should be glad they'd accepted his aid. Potter, always Potter  
It had taken Potter and Dumbledore to save Methos, and his actions had once again been thrown away as nothign.

Severus forced himself to stop thinking about them and turned to the being that was lying on the couch, trembling. He moved over to the man and brushed his fingers over the creatures brow.  
It rolled up in its sleep.

"How old is he?"

Severus nearly jumped up, he hadn't noticed the others approach.  
"5.000"  
Potter gasped. Severus grinned, glad he'd known something that Potter hadn't.  
"He doesn't remember."

The creature opened its eyes, as if it knew they were talking about it.  
Severus sat down next to it and talked in hushed tones, hoping to keep it calm. The creature grabbed his hand, desperate for something solid to grasp on to.


	6. Chapter 5

*** 2001 ***

Someone was coming. Methos could hear the presence rumble in the air. He moved up from his chair, grabbing his sword as he did so. Harry had burried himself in a schoolbook, though it was obvious that hiding wouldn't help him blank his memory from the scenes of death. Methos could only pray that the kid had more luck at it than he did.

The door stood solid in his way, both defending them and keeping him from knowing who woudl be threatening them. Even so prepared, he still startled as he heard three balanced knocks on the wood. Harry sat up, placing the book on the cabinet next to him. Methos finally saw that he'd been hiding the remains of his wand behind the book.

"Back." Methos hissed the word at him, anything to scare him away.  
The boy barely listened halfway, taking no more than a step back, still standing at ready.

There was no way to know who'd be awaiting them outside, who would threaten their safety. All he knew was that something were wrong with the Buzz. It felt off, down at it's most basic core. Wrong enough to make him break out in cold shivers, knowing that had once been him.

"Get to your room. Keep it locked. Your magic won't work this time."  
The boy looked at him, slightly confused, almost as scared of him as off the man behind the door.  
"It's a Swordsman, like me. We have a natural immunity to magic. You can't even kill us by natural means."  
Methos tried to give him a sense of confidence, but it seemed the boy saw right through him.  
"Just get to your room and stay there. I'll take care of this."

"But what about you?"

Methos groaned as he realized the boy was just like his father, concerned about anyone else but himself.  
"Someone has to stop him." he muttered. And unfortunately that someone was him.

"I can help."

"With what?" Methos could hear his anger rise in his voice, making him sound harsher than he'd intended.  
"Getting yourself used as a hostage? Stealing my attention away when I'm supposed to concentrate on saving myself.   
Stay out of the way kid, it'll do a lot more good."

The boy seemed about to protest, but finally backed down and headed up the stairs. Damn boyscouts, always made him feel guilty for whatever wrong they felt he did to them.

*** 1983 ***

The lights were skittering around him, Methos tried to catch them, he almost held on in the palm of his hand, but it got away just before he could grab it. His head tilted, following the pattern of the lights against the walls, around him.  
"Lights."  
He slowly tried the word out on his tongue, tasting it on his lips

"Yes Methos, lights."  
The woman looked at him, a gentle glance towards him as she did. 

He touched the fabric of his robes as he got up, once again trying to catch the light.  
"Pretty."  
He wanted to tell her how beautiful the things were, but it was impossible to explain the wonder of it in the mere few words he'd managed to learn, hating himself for sounding stupid to his new owners.  
He didn't want to lie to the mistress. He got up, trying to catch the light once more, but slipped over his robes and accidentally knocked down the box in front of him, it closed as it fell.

He backed of, terrified as the lights faded away.  
What had he done, had he broken the spell?

She came closer to him, holding his chin in the palm of her hand.  
"Don't worry."  
She put the box back and opened it again.  
"See, the light's still there."  
He couldn't understand the meaning of the words, but he felt comforted by her kindness.  
"Severus will be here in a few hours."  
Methos smiled as he recognized the name. It was one of the words he actually knew and he liked Severus.

The woman left him alone and Methos was once again fascinated by the lights, how did they get caught in the box? He stared in awe as the woman just aimed her staff at the dinerplates and they started to clean themselves.  
Methos was still waiting for an order, though he couldn't help but question the use he could be to beings this powerful.

"Do you want some?"  
Methos stared at her, unable to understand. Then she pushed him a plate with food, a knife and some kind of metal object that he couldn't name for the best will in the world. He stared at the knife and touched it. It was sharp, made of some strange glittering ore. So shiny and smooth that he could see his own reflection gazing at him from it's surface.  
It startled him and he managed to cut himself on it's blade.

She looked up and grabbed a towel,but before she could even cover the wound, lightening flashes erupted around it, healing the injury.

The magics, they were still imposed on him.  
Methos closed his eyes ... remembering other flashes of eyes that had once filled his eyes.  
Fire and blood.  
He stood still, unable to move, as countless deaths played before him. All too many of them ending with the heavens fire coming down upon him.

Killer.

That's all he was.  
A wretched beast, capable only of death.  
Yet he didn't remember why, or anything else. All he remembered were the deaths, and that they were actions of his hands.  
Gods have mercy.  
What had he done?


	7. Chapter 6

*** 2001 ***

Methos knew he was slow in opening the door. The man in front of him seemed frozen. There was no expression in his eyes, no free will, not even rage at being used this way. It seemed to take forever before he moved, and when he finally did, it came almost out of nowhere. Methos barely managed to duck under the attack and stopped the other's blade with his own.  
The immortal tried to get him outside, but Methos knew that if he did, he'd be doomed. He kept his position, just barely on the dooropening.

Shadows waited for him, just outside the door. He needn't see them to know who or what they were, or whose orders they were following. Methos grabbed his opponants collar and dragged him over the doorstep, across the barrier formed by his blood.  
It helped, but not enough.  
"Two heads for the master." the man muttered, madness shone through his eyes.  
Methos no longer cared, the threat was too big, both for himself and for Harry.

He let out a primal battle cry and forget about finesse. Led by his rage and fear his attack was too strong to be held off. the other immortal stared up at him for a mere moment as Methos held his sword up for the final strike.  
"Thank you."  
Methos could see the fear show and knew that whatever happened, he'd freed the other immortal from a fate worse than death. 

He gasped for air, grasping for something to hold on to. He was unprepared when the Quickening came, but then again, when could you ever be prepared for it's force to begin with. The fire came on to him, making the night as light as day and even in the rush of the pain and pleasure invading him, he could see the shadows vanishing.

He fell down on his knees, staring at his blooded sword and stared up at Harry who came down towards him.The boy's eyes were damped with tears.

*** 1983****

"Where am I?  
His hand touched a crystal ball in front of him. He stared at it, it seemed unfamiliar somehow.

"Remember."

Methos gazed blankly at the white haired face  
"Remember what?"  
What was he forgetting? He was safe, there was darkness beyond the walls, darkness and pain.  
He felt himself huddled behind a crystal wall. An old man stood in front of him, kneeling down next to him. Whispering somethign... Telling him to remember. But he didn't want to.

He startled at his own words, barely aware that he'd spoken them out loud.  
"But you must."  
Methos held his hands over his ears, closed his eyes and wiped the man's presence away from him.  
He wouldn't remember. He wouldn't. Never again.

Methos shrieked up as he opened his eyes and a young man was holding him.  
The master.  
The master who shouldn't be helping him, he wasn't worth it.

"Don't worry, everything's allright."  
Methos leanedc closer, holding his trembling body together.  
Where was Severus?

He muttered the wizard's name, almost unsure of the sound of his own voice. The master just brushed thorugh his hair, attemtping to sooth him.  
"He'll be here soon."  
Soon, he'd learned that word, it wouldn't take long then. The master looked at him from behind double eyes.

Methos wondered what the master wanted of him. He tracked the man's every move, gazing at him in a reverant awe as the master opened one of those weird flat scrolls of his. Methos had seen writing before, but he'd never seen it done on any material that thin. The master turned to him, his double eyes reflected the light. Methos wondered what seemed to bring a smile to his master's face.

He tried to controll himself when the master aimed his staff at him, he could hear some strange words and then all he could feel was a slight ringing in his ears. Nothing else happened. The master rustled through his hair, attempting to flatten it while looking at the staff in his hand.

Methos shrank back as the master hit himself on the head. He stared with wide open eyes as the master aimed the staff at himself and was surrounded by a bright light.

/"Hello"/  
It was the first word since Mauri had spoken his sentence and he'd woken up in the demon's cage that Methos actually understood as his own tongue.  
/"Don't worry. I just put a spell on myself."/  
Methos stared at him, completely bewildered.  
/"I thought it would be easier if we understood one another."/  
The master continued as if he didn't even noticed Methos' reaction.  
/"So how are you?"/

Methos finally managed to stutter a response.  
/"I am fine master"/  
But the master seemed startled by something.

/"Are you sure?"/

/"I just ..."/ Methos lowered his gaze, worried what might happen if he said the wrong thing. What if he insulted the master in some way, calling his wrath upon him?

The master waited a few seconds, giving him the chance to answer, but Methos stayed silent.  
/"Lilly and I are worried."/  
Methos wondered what he'd done wrong to give needless worries to either of his masters.

/"But I'm fine master. Really I am."/  
The master winced at something he'd said.  
/"I just wish I knew what kind of service you desire of me."/

Methos hand hit his mouth as soon as the words passed his lips. How dare he make a request like that of the master. To demand anything. All would happen as the master wished it.

The master just pulled him up. gently holding his hands, before he could hit himself again.  
/"You don't have to do anything."/

/"But master."/

/"All I want is for you to stop calling me that..."/  
Methos stared at him in confusion.  
/"I'm nobodies master Methos. I'm just a wizard."/  
Methos could feel his heart fall silent, not but then ...   
/"And my name's James."/  
But if the master wasn't his master, then who did he belong too. Would he be returned to the demon who owned him?  
/"Try it, James."/  
No. Methos bit his lip, stunned in a baffled silence.µ

"James..."

/"Good, Easy enough right?"/

Methos gave him a quick nod to keep him happy, but deep inside his heart trembled at the other's behavior. He followed the master as he motioned for him to follow him outside. He stared up, near blinded by the light of father sun in the sky. It was a small valley they were in, the house was built at the middle of a small clearing in the woods. It was the only house in sight and all around them were trees higher than two men...

His wonder was audible in his voice as he was forced to gasp for air. He knew no words to describe the flowers that surrounded them. The beauty of a forrest, greater than any oasis he'd ever seen.  
Pretty, was all he could say.

The master didn't say a word, he just placed his hand on Methos' shoulder and nodded.  
Methos basked in the sun like a newborn child, and like a father, his master joined him in the miracle, sharing the wonder.


	8. Chapter 7

*** 2001 ***

  


It hit him then, the presence wasn't gone. Not all of it. There was another, a second immortal. He glanced around, glaring at Harry to back off. A soft chuckle filled the air and Methos gazed at the door. There was a small boy standing there. He couldn't have been more than nine. Such an innocent, or so most would think.

Methos stared at the boy and he could see the evil in the young boy's eyes. The hate and the pain. Methos managed to get himself to stand in between Harry and the boy and faced the kid.  
Something happened between them.  
A meeting from one predator to another, the boy looked at him and understood. He had to be intelligent, otherwise he wouldn't have survived a week in that form. Smart and ruthless.  
Yet another of the Dark Lord's flunkies and not just a hapless victim of his powers either.  
The kid nodded and turned away, Methos didn't dare move before every last hint of the other's presence was gone.

Harry ran up to him, barely stopping mere inches in front of him, holding on like a brave little Gryffindor. Methos wondered if the kid had even realized how much danger they'd both been in. Methos especially.  
But no, the kid was young, in love with danger and excitement and when the terror would come, it would probably be discarded as cowardice.  
Gryffindors!

"What was that?"

Methos refused to meet his gaze and grabbed for his coat.  
"Get your stuff kid, we're leaving."

The boy looked at him, maybe he wasn't all that stupid, at least he wasn't that naive to trust just anyone.  
"Where to?"

"There's a bookstore here in London, a friend of mine'll be waiting for us."

After a second the kid came to a decision and got his coat, staring at Methos.  
"Who are you?"

"Family."

"I don't have family."  
Methos barely held in a chuckle at the kid's brave posture. If he wanted to, he could take him out anytime and for some reason he suspected Harry knew that ... Yet ...  
"Sure there's the Dursleys. Were ..."  
The boy winched at mentioning the name, probably remembering what had happened.  
Methos couldn't help but take pity at him.

"I am family."  
The boy looked at him in disbelief.

"Then why..."  
The boy quickly bit back the rest of the question. As if trying to hide something.

"Look, we don't have the time, so don't go playing 20 questions with me now agreed?"  
The boy quickly nodded.  
"Your father was my guardian for a while. To the magical law, that made him my father, and us family.  
Now will you please stop nagging little brother. I really don't want to keep my friend waiting."

Harry stared at him in what seemed to be surprise. Methos left, not bothering to check if the kid was following. He smiled as he heard the back door of the car slam shut as the boy sat down.  


*** 1984 ***

Methos smiled as he pulled up the clay, it felt so warm under his fingers, stretching out under them. A face formed in the clay, then a second, a third. So many formed that the clay returned to a moving blur. There was so much in his mind, too much to remember.   
Slave, master, demon, god...  
He'd been it all.

He nearly crumbled underneath the weight of the memories, frozen by their overwelming presence.  
"Methos?"  
He knew now how long it had been to hear his name called out like this. He'd hidden it for so long...  
Lilly stood in the door, staring at him, her belly ripe with child.  
He grabbed for his head, dimming the scream about to burst out. Lilly approached, her fingers brushing motherly through his hair. It was nice. He'd never had a mother. Plenty of lovers, but never a mother.  
"You'll be fine."  
But would he, could he ever be fine again.  
She didn't really knew him, she didn't know how the young slave she'd cared over had been washed away behind an ocean of memories. All of which were grabbing for a piece of what remained of his tainted and tattered soul.  
As old memories mixed with the new, his hands fell on the ground for support as he could feel a woman's touch on him. She felt wrong, so different, yet ... he knew her somehow.  
Lilly.  
That was her name and she was crying for him, caring.

He could feel a tear form in his eyes and did a desperate attempt to wipe it away.


	9. Chapter 8

*** 2001 ***

It was like entering Diagon Alley for the first time, all over again. To enter a strange new world of beings like him, yet unlike him at the same time. The store was almost as huge as the library at Hogwarts. He stared at the books, all too many of the books even smelled about as duff as many of the Hogwarts library books. If not for the manager being a Muggle, he might have considered looking for a spell book amongst the long edgy rows of the shop. And even keeping that in mind, he wouldn't fully rule out the possibillity of finding one.

He looked at Adam who was talking to one of the men in charge and shuddered. The sheer threat of the man. He'd killed a man only hours ago, yet here he was, smooth and charming as if nothing had happened. Harry kept his hands in his pockets, holding tightly to the remains of his wand hidden inside the sealing. Adam had seemed extremely used to hiding things in coats. Harry hadn't dared ask why.

The Muggle Adam was talking to was an older man, gray hair and beard and once he came closer, Harry could see the stick in his hand was a cane needed for walking.

"He isn't one of us Joe. He's just a kid, a kid that needs help."

The Muggle seemed to try to get some kind of information out of Adam and was failing miserably. Harry could commiserate. A great source of information, Adam was not.   
Harry tried to relax in one of the soft couches scattered around the room. It was a strange place this bookstore. A place of rest, to hide from the speed of the bristling metropolis outside. Here the noise of the cars outside was muffled by the solid wood of the bookcases lining the walls. You could barely smell the stench of the modern air outside through the thick scent of ink and parchment.   
Almost, almost he could imagine that he was back home, at Hogwarts.

He tried to ignore Joe's stare. It seemed the Muggle was worried of what he might touch or break... Adam almost seemed amused, making the effort to stretch out at one of the coffeetables scattered around the shop and planting his feet firmly on top of one of them. Yet ... taking a better look at him, it was clear he was on edge, his feet placed just so ... that they wouldn't touch a single book on the table, his pose clear to jump up at the slightest signal of danger.

"We're just looking for a place to hide Joe. Somewhere where those bastards won't even think to look."

"Why?"

"They're after Harry, trying to kill him."  
Adam stretched back a bit, his movement causing a crack in the chair.  
"I promised an old friend that I'd look after him."

"Someone actually asked you to look after a kid? To have seen that day."  
The sarcasm came dripping from the old Muggle's lips. Neither of them seemed to mind that he could hear every word they said. 

"Severus ... he doesn't ask many favors. That and I owe the boy's parents. The kid's family."

Harry nearly slipped of the couch at hearing Snape's name.  
"Professor Snape?" He whispered. That was impossible. In the first place the man hated his guts. And secondly ...   
He couldn't come up with a second reason. Dumbledore trusted him.

"Severus saved me from a fate worse than death. That's a debt I can never hope to repay. Without him I'd be a slave to V... to..." Adam took a deep breath before continuing "to he who cannot be named. Severus saved my soul."  
Harry recognized that moment of pain and terror in the other's eyes. He'd seen it before. Fear was a favored tool of Voldemort. The monster thrived on it, he swallowed it like a drug and fed on the hold it gave him over others.

"Voldemort."  
Adam seemed to shrink just at hearing the name.

*** 1984 ***

Severus shivered as he looked at the muddied soil in front of him, barely looking at the hem of the dark lords robes. He'd grovelled and rolled in the mud for the dark master and now he'd be punished. All too be believed, all so the dark lord would not know of his treason. 

Then there was no more time for thoughts, no more time for anything but screams of pain as the Cruciatus curse hit him. He let it out, yelling in a rage of pain. It didn't last long, but the end could never come fast enough. He fell down as it released it's grip on him and groveled in front of the master.  
In disgrace before his fellows.

It had seemed so easy to say yes. So easy to follow Dumbledore's idea of returning to Voldemort and become Dumbledore's spy. But then ... Dumbledore wasn't the dark lord. He didn't know the hate that Voldemort held, his hunger for the pain of others. Yet, the pain ended and Severus stared at his master's feet, crawling up from the dirt, forgotten by the others, to scared to show even the slightest sign of empathy for a fallen brother.

It never ended, not here.  
And for that, that alone, it would be every reason to stop him, worth every risk, every betrayal.  
Methos would never stay free, not with the master after him. And if there was one thing about Severus ... it was his loyalty, that long stretching pull of a promise to dark brown eyes on a body filled with fire. Even death himself would not free him from that oath.

So he got up, and grovelled and the master would take him back in. And with every second he'd know his true reasons, his true purpose. 


	10. Chapter 9

**** 2001 ****

"Severus!"

The wizard scoffed at the sound of his name. At the happiness in the immortals eyes. He glared at Potter and the young wizard tried to avoid his eyes. Severus would never go as far as to express how much it had pleased him to see Methos. Not with the Potter-boy following Methos around like a lost puppy, he snarled his hello's and sat down, uncomfortable in the confining Muggle clothing.

A Muggle stared at him and Severus glared right back. He was about to do a spell to make the Muggle scatter off when he noticed the way Methos was looking at him.  
"Joe Dawson, Severus, Severus Snape, Joe."

"Adam!"

"Joe knows about my kind Severus. He's a friend of mine."  
Which meant squat where Severus was concerned, but he didn't bother to mention that to Methos. It was probably better to obliviate the old man right before he left anyway. It would be safer for all of them, especially the Muggle. The world of the Swordsmen was even more dangerous than the wizard world. 

"I noticed marks of an attack?"  
Methos seemed somewhat tired, his hair slack and gruff and Severus could see the red in his eyes.

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Deatheaters?"

"They had an immortal with them."

But there had been no corpse, the Death Eaters probably took it with them. Any remains of magical creatures were useful to them. Swordsman' blood especially. The lightening in it alone was enough to power any number of spells. 

A loud crack filled the air and all of the adults turned around, staring at Potter who was standing amidst a set of books that seemed to have fallen from the top of the bookcase. Adam didn't say a word, he just stared at the boy. Potter had fallen on his knees and was holding his head, grasping for his scar in pain. Snape wanted to give him hell for scaring them all, but he doubted he could scare him any more than he already was.

Methos got up next to Potter, trying to hold on to him but the boy merely shuddered down on the ground.

"Their eyes. He looked at them, killing them, their eyes. They just looked at me."

"Voldemort."

Both Adam and the Muggle stared at him. Severus had heard of this, that Potter sometimes got visions of what the dark lord was seeing or feeling. To see him like this, it almost, almost made him feel pity for the boy.  
But there wasn't time for that. Not now.

"Who?"

"I don't know."   
Severus just glared at the boy, refusing to take that as an answer.  
"They were old. Grey hair, an old couple, his eyes they .. they were brown, one darker than the other. They looked at me, at Voldemort. They..."

"What else did you see?"

"Severus stop it!"

But Severus knew better, he grabbed hold of Potter, shaking him up.  
"WHAT DID YOU SEE?"

Then he felt himself pulled back, pushed away from the boy.  
"There was a picture, falling from a ledge above the fire. A picture, ... your picture."

Snape didn't say a word. He pulled himself together, refusing to show emotions in front of that godforsaken Gryffindor. His hands, now more than ever he could feel his damnation burned into him like the dark mark.  
He could still be wrong. Potter could just have been playing with him, pretending ... He could be lying, or wrong ... But if he weren't... 

Methos wanted to touch him, help him, but Snape turned away from him. He would not let them see weakness.  
They would not know, or see, and his parents ... It was too late as it were and grieving would not bring them back.

*** 1984 ***

"How could you?"

Severus stared back at his father. Furious was to soothing a word to describe what the man felt like right now. Furious, disappointed ... He ached to tell him the truth, to be able to deny his fathers words, but he couldn't... Not without risking their lives as well as his own.

He couldn't even bare to face his mothers eyes. The pain inside of them at the thought that he, her son, could possibly serve Voldemort. 

"Will you betray me father? Will you hand me to the aurors?"

Ignatius Snape seemed almost broken by the mere question. As an auror he'd always believed in right and wrong. In doing what was just... But this wasn't something the books could have warned him about. There was no rulebook about choosing between your own child and the law, when both have equal meaning to you.

His father just stared at the mark on his son's arm and Severus could feel it's burn.

"I shall not allow you to disgrace our name Severus."

"But will you betray me..."

His father didn't answer.


End file.
